Watch Over Me

"Poor woman," he said. "What a way to go."

Anne nodded. "Do you think it may be Dwayne?"

"I certainly wouldn't put it beyond him," Mo said. "It's definitely a line for the police to follow up."

"Do you think I should contact them?" Anne said.

Mo nodded. "Obviously," he said. "If he's the killer, you'll be doing justice a good turn."

"Okay," Anne said. She consulted the directory and dialled the number.

The police were very happy with her information, and they sent a female officer round to take down everything she could tell them.

The officer introduced herself as Mabel Johnson, and she asked if Anne would mind her recording the interview, which she didn't -- so she switched on a small recorder and asked Anne to tell her what she could.

Anne told her she'd lived in the same house, and she gave a very accurate description of Dwayne Tranter, and she told her the boyfriend's particulars, insofar as she knew them, and how he would stand and stare at her, and how he tried to rule Gayle's life in any way he could...

"You did not like him much, did you?" Ms Johnson said.

"I was afraid of him," Anne replied. "He seemed very untrustworthy to me."

"Hmmm," Ms Johnson said. She looked at Anne as if to decide whether she was another of those excitable women who enjoy feeling important by calling the police. Anne hoped she'd pass muster, but she had at least given her a possible lead, she thought.

The officer nodded and said, "We didn't know there was a boyfriend. It seems Gayle must have been very secretive about her relationship."

"I don't know," Anne said. "I lived with Gayle at that place for almost fifteen years, but I can't say I knew her well, really. She kept herself pretty much to herself..."

She thought back to those long days, and shook her head. "Oh well," she said. "For what it's worth."

"Yes. Do you have any other information that might be helpful to us?

"No. I don't think so. I've told you what I know."

"Alright then. I will have the interview written down. Would you mind coming into the station tomorrow to read and sign your statement?"

Anne said she would be there, and saw Ms Johnson to the door.

She went into the living room. Mo put down his book and look at her questioningly.

Anne raised her eyebrows. "She looked at me as if she were assessing me," she said. "I just told her the little I know."

Mo nodded. "She probably did. There are a lot of creeps about."

He smiled at her. "You may well have helped them out of a difficult job."

"I do hope so," Anne said. "I could do with a drink. Want one, too?"

The next day Anne went to the police station after school and read and signed her statement. The officer who'd taken it wasn't in; she was received by an elderly gentleman who appeared to be the leading investigator. He was very correct and rather distant, and Anne was happy to have done with it.

They didn't hear anything about the case for some time until there was an article in the papers saying an arrest had been made. There was a DNA match with the traces found under the deceased's nails.

"I wish I'd been wrong about him," Mo said. "Good thing you cleared out in time."

It gave Anne the shivers -- she knew.

As autumn took hold, the beautiful view from her sitting-room slowly changed colours. The grass started to pale, and the trees grew russet and brown and yellow, but she loved it still... She'd grown up on a cramped living estate in town, and the apartment she'd shared with poor, silly Gayle was surrounded by other apartment blocks. She loved the country and the changing seasons, and here she could see and enjoy them in abundance.

Temperatures began to fall, and some mornings Mo had to scrape the ice off the windscreen. Anne had offered to take her turn in doing so, but Mo didn't think it meet to let her -- it was no work for women, he said -- so she didn't offer to do so again.

He was really nice, even though she could well de-ice a windscreen, she thought -- she wasn't certain if he was courteous or just old-fashioned, or both, but he was a good person to have around. She loved looking at him and listening to him, and he made her feel very much at home and at peace around him. She wished she could convince herself he might feel like that, too.

They changed the clocks. It started to get colder in earnest, and Mo kept a good supply of firewood in the living-room. On the evenings when Anne came down from her own quarters to join him, she usually found him reading near the fire, but he would immediately put down his book to enjoy her presence the way she did his. She loved the way he'd smile at her, and the look in his eyes on her. He had deep-set, grey eyes that could see right through you -- as many a pupil knew only too well -- but that could also be soothing and, she thought, a little like honey, warm and soft. She wished she were as clever and educated as he. She always felt he must think of her as a little uncouth, entirely unaware of the fact that what he did think was that Anne was a station above him.

On one of those evenings, Mo asked her what her plans were for Christmas. He planned to have friends over on Boxing Day; he had invited Ted -- yes, the one who painted the little nude -- and his wife and daughters. They'd arranged that a long time ago. Mo always made sure he had visitors at Christmas, as it made the season truly festive.

"Will you be going anywhere? Do you want to invite friends over, and if not, would you mind celebrating Christmas with me?" he asked her.

"No, no, and certainly not," she replied immediately, feeling a happy glow spreading inside her and warming her cheeks. They spent the rest of that evening making plans -- what to eat, and how to decorate the room, and what drinks to buy, and there was a concert in the village church that seemed nice to them both. It was nice and warm, and they both felt very happy.

Anne thought of the Christmases she'd had when living in her old apartment. She'd usually tried to ignore the idea as much as possible. It was a rotten time to be alone. Making plans together was new, exciting and very pleasant!

November ended with a sprinkling of snow; but it was short-lived, and December howled in with rain, lots of wind and too clement temperatures. Even so, Mo kept the hearth burning. Every night he closed the doors on the dying fire, and every evening he would light it again, because, he said, it was more pleasant than central heating. He loved looking into the flames, and the house was always warm and cosy, and Anne came downstairs rather often now the world was dreary and dark outside. He highly enjoyed those times when she did, though he never acted any differently toward her. He just soaked in her presence, and beamed at her obvious enjoyment of his company.

At school his colleagues sensed something different in Mo. He seemed a little less withdrawn, a little less aloof, perhaps -- quite human, actually. Anne's new address had been published somewhere but no one had bothered to find out about it, and they were mercifully spared any comment. Not that he would have been bothered had they said anything, but he felt that Anne would have been embarrassed by the attention, which he knew would be unwanted.

Moreover, there was a lot of talk as Murchison, the senior maths teacher, seemed to pay rather a lot of attention to young Mrs Wilkinson, a looker if ever there was one, though she generally wore dresses that were less than revealing, due to her husband's tendency to use force to settle any arguments -- and sometimes when there weren't any arguments, too, for good measure. It was whispered that she and Mr. Murchison sometimes, you know, that they... Well, anyway, those rumours kept tongues wagging -- something shocking to think about, instead of his and Anne's living arrangements.

When the holidays came along, it was still wet and windy. No white Christmas, hardly even a green one. There were blackish wet leaves on the paths in the wood, and grey clouds traversing the sky, and the wind howled in the chimney. Mo had put up a Christmas tree in the living-room, and they spent Christmas Eve preparing their Christmas dinner together.

Anne prepared a mushroom soup with a hint of onion, and crunchy bacon and croutons to be added later. Mo was busy with a mutton roast with gravy and vegetables, and potato cubes, to be fried next day, and together they made a salad with greek cheese and a custard crumble. They spent a lot of time in the kitchen, with a CD of carols by the King's College Singers in the background.

Then, after a light meal, they went out and walked the distance to the village church where they attended mass, smiling at each other now and then.

To their surprise Christmas morning broke silent and sunny. No snow, definitely not, but a welcome change after all those rains.

Anne got up, and threw open the casement windows. The air was cold, but she inhaled it deeply. It felt good, going into her lungs, and she felt this was going to be a day of promise. She'd been looking forward to celebrating Christmas with Mo, and it seemed a felicitous sign that the weather was so nice. She wondered if she could tell him how nice she thought he was, but it seemed a bit daunting still.

She quickly made her ablutions and went downstairs to find Mo in the kitchen, whistling and busy making tea. He stopped when she came in and wished her a merry Christmas, taking her hands and kissing her cheeks. She blushed but kissed him back.

They had breakfast together, and then coffee. Anne found there was a present for her under the tree; it was a bottle of perfume and a collection of poems. She beamed at Mo when she unpacked them -- and immediately put on some perfume.

"Oh, nice! Lovely, Mo -- It's just the kind of scent I like!"

She took a deep whiff, and smiled. "Do you think it smells good one me?"

Mo sniffed, and nodded appreciatively.

They went for a long walk after that, with a nice pub lunch half way, and they made sure they were back in time to put the last touches to their dinner that evening. After dinner they sat in the living-room talking about past Christmases and listening to a series of Christmas concertos by some of Mo's favourite composers, and played Yahtzee over a glass of port, to turn in at eleven, at peace with themselves and the world.

Anne lay in bed thinking of the past year, and how happy she was to have escaped the apartment she had lived in for so long with its attendant gloom. Mo was a dear, she thought. He would never undress her with his eyes, the way some colleagues would, the way Dwayne, Gayle's boyfriend, did the few times they bumped into each other, and he was always nice and friendly, and very dependable. Yes. Life had gone right. All she should get now was a place of her own, so she wouldn't outstay her welcome. She wondered what Mo thought of her; it was probably good things, she thought, or he wouldn't be so nice. She glanced over a few of the poems he had given her earlier -- she'd read them later.

Then she turned off the lights and closed her eyes, and lay thinking of Mo. If he weren't so aloof, she would have tried to find out if he'd want her, she thought. No, not aloof -- it wasn't that. She really looked up to him -- he had such an ease with a lot of things, and seemed to know so much... She sighed. He was clearly well beyond her station -- but he was a real, real friend. Sweet and nice -- damn! She lay still, thinking of his eyes and smile before she dropped off.

Mo couldn't sleep; he got up again and went downstairs. He hadn't felt so happy for a long time, even though he realised that Anne would probably be wanting to find a place of her own, and quite rightly so. But he wished she wouldn't; and he had started to wonder if being a bachelor was really what he wanted after all. There was a half moon, disappearing and reappearing again through the wisps of cloud that were passing overhead; it would be back to normal the next day -- rain, rain, and more rain. Oh well. It was a little disturbing sometimes to have Anne around -- he felt getting more and more enamoured with her, and it was hard not to be able to show it. She was in his thought more often than he'd like to admit. He wondered what life would be like when she'd found a place of her own -- he was afraid he might prove unable so fall back into his old groove easily. He sighed deeply. Life was very unpredictable.

Their visitors arrived early the next morning. Anne took an immediate liking to Medbh, Ted's wife. She had an online second-hand bookshop (and a place in town, she said) and she was just as unusual as Mo. She thought that Mo and Medbh might have made a good couple, but apparently Mo didn't have any such ideas. When she asked him, later, he told her he'd known Ted for years when Ted met and courted Medbh -- he'd painted a very sexy portrait of her as a proposal, he said, and it had worked. Their elder daughters, both from a previous relationship, were beautiful, and the twins nice and bright. The eight of them had a lovely day, and Anne was very happy when Medbh invited her over for a visit at some future date. She said she'd certainly go, and she meant it.

It rained all week, and New Year's Eve passed uneventfully. Mo went out to the shed to prepare more firewood, and Anne stayed in her quarters for most of the day, marking papers and preparing lessons for the coming term. The highlight of the day was their meeting at dinner and then spending the evening in each other's company, reading and talking now and then, till ten when then played a new record that Mo had just bought, and had a drink together. Anne loved the fact that he still had one of the "old" record players, so she could enjoy the vintage sounds of the kinds of music he enjoyed, some of which were not readily available in any other format. They called it a day at half past twelve. The rest of the holidays followed the same pattern, more or less -- they saw each other at meals and in the evenings and went their own way during the remainder of the day. The weather was good enough for another walk twice, but it was a miserable show most of the time.

The winter term was long and cold. Teaching was okay, and they had picked up enough energy to make it till the next holidays without any trouble. Anne loved the quiet pace of the country, but she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable being a guest at Mo's. He would look at her quietly when they were together, wondering a bit uncertainly how and if he could make her understand what he felt for her. She apparently misinterpreted the looks he gave her completely, however, so she began to search more diligently for accommodations elsewhere. It was with a kind of relief, therefore, that she eventually got an offer for an apartment in town that seemed reasonable, and had all the facilities she wanted. It was situated fairly close to school and big enough for her.

When she told Mo at dinner, it was all he could do not to let his face fall and spoil her joy. He was genuinely happy for her -- it was what she'd wanted, after all -- and so he buoyed himself up to smile at her bravely and wish her luck. So that was that, he thought -- back to the lonely life he's seen as natural only nine months ago -- no Anne, no bright smile in the morning, no chance she and he -- he stopped that train of thought with an effort. Blast! He felt like like a schoolboy in love... He suppressed a deep sigh.

They went to see the place together, and after having a look, Anne decided it was quite the right place for her. It was a nice apartment alright; even Mo had to admit as much to himself. He only wished he could think of an excuse to keep her at his place. He knew how he felt about her, and that the last thing he wanted was for her to leave. But he had no idea if her feelings matched his, as she had been friendly and companionable, but nothing more for the time she had been in his home. He wasn't an expert about women, and didn't know quite how to broach the subject of her staying on.

Anne moved out by the end of week. Mo drove her and her things to her new home, and helped her arrange them where she wanted them. She kissed him warmly on the cheek when everything was done. He took his leave and drove back home in silence, feeling empty, old and grey. When he got home, he poured himself four fingers of whisky and sipped the drink slowly, sitting in his favourite chair, staring into the empty grate, his emotions in turmoil, a mixture of moroseness and angry frustration. He didn't know whether he was angry with her for wanting to leave, or with himself for letting her go.

III. Mark

Anne felt very lonely at first, having grown accustomed to Mo's presence and to doing things together with him. Now, however, she went home to a cold hearth, and spent the evenings working for lack of a better thing to do. She reread the poems she got at Christmas; lots of them were love poems. Mo apparently thought she must be rather romantic, she thought. She was afraid to believe it might be because he harbored any deep feelings for her. What if she assumed that, and she was wrong? She couldn't live with the mortification. But reading the poems, knowing where her own thoughts about him often led her, made her miss him even more keenly. If only he were a little less -- she couldn't find the word she wanted. She shook her head, trying to get thoughts of him out. But the little voice inside mocked her, repeating his name: "Mo, Mo, Mo..."

Eventually she settled into a new groove. School kept her very busy. She often had coffee during her breaks with Mo; he was always happy and ready to talk with her. They were still very easy together, but somehow it was a little different from the days when Ann lived at his place. Mo looked at her and wished, as he had so often, that he was more easygoing, more conversant with dealing with a woman -- he missed the point that it was his own feelings he could not handle entirely. Nor did Anne understand why she sometimes found it hard to talk to Mo -- it hadn't been like that before.

Now that she lived in town she visited some of her colleagues, and went out with a small group of lady teachers once or twice. There was a flourishing literary circle with excellent speakers at times, and she often went there. Mo was there, too, most of the time -- she didn't know that he was one of the founding members, and arranged most of the evenings. It was always nice to see him there, though. They often sat listening together, and Mo was happy to notice that Anne was well informed about a lot of the subjects. It felt better than at school, somehow, and Anne was more at ease.

Another favourite outing of hers was the cinema. She slowly developed a liking for art house films and old black and white classics. There was a colleague who shared this enthusiasm with her, and Jenny and she often spent a nice Saturday evening watching one of their movies and talking about it afterwards.

Jenny, who worked at the same school, was some ten years younger than Anne. She taught socials sciences, and Anne and she had become friends when they shared a project together. The project had been a success, and because of the close contact it required between them, they had come to respect and like each each other a lot.

She did compare the men she met occasionally, in town, or at the cinema, to Mo, and they didn't come close to what she'd come to see as the standard for a nice man. But how could Mo ever want her? She never suspected that Mo might think that she could hardly see anything in him, feeling as he did that he must seem quite old-fashioned and stuffy to her. She visited him at his place every now and then, and he came and had tea with her. But something made their time together a little strained. Mo tried desperately to be entertaining and to make her face light up the way it used to, and Anne tried to be the lady she thought Mo would like to see. t didn't work out well, and their visits became less frequent. They had become too ill at ease in each other's company.